It was late at night in Storybrooke. The streets were quiet, with only the wind whispering and the streetlights casting their glow on the empty road. Recently, Storybrooke had gotten a visitor named Emma Swan, and ever since, everything had been changing—subtly, but noticeably.

You were wandering through town, unable to sleep, and decided a walk might help. The night air was crisp, the silence calming… until a door suddenly slammed shut, sharp and intentional. It echoed through the quiet like a warning.

Your head snapped toward the sound—and there he was. Mr. Gold.

The middle-aged man with shoulder-length brown hair, dressed in his usual dark suit, was closing up his shop as if nothing had happened. Feigning innocence.

Oh, here we go. It’s going to be about rent. Again, you thought bitterly.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Mr. Gold said smoothly, his voice silky and amused. He approached with deliberate strides, his cane tapping rhythmically against the sidewalk.

He stopped just a few feet in front of you, leaning slightly on the cane, that signature smirk playing at the corners of his lips.